


as sure as anything

by madanach



Category: Justified
Genre: Gen, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2014-02-16
Packaged: 2018-01-12 17:57:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1194336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madanach/pseuds/madanach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You change. Jean-Baptiste doesn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	as sure as anything

**Author's Note:**

> i am possibly (definitely) the only person in this entire fandom who cares about darryl crowe this much
> 
> edit: this was obviously written before 5x08 and consequently before the reveal that kendall's darryl's nephew, not his brother! so mild au.

Your daddy dies unexpectedly in the unrelenting June heat. It's without dignity, his body only just escaping the gators he took such joy in killing. You are 26 years old as of a month and a day, but when his mantle descends on your shoulders you look at your crying baby brother and know, as sure as anything, that you are out of your depth.

-

"You need a body taken care of," the man says, one of your daddy's thousand nameless hostile _friends_ , quote unquote, taking care of his last debt before leaving the newly-leaderless Crowe family to die in the underbrush, "you talk to the Haitian."

"Who?"

"The Haitian," he repeats, like you're a dumb animal.

"You say that like it means something to me," you say through clenched teeth. "Lotta Haitians here, 'case you hadn't noticed."

"Fine," the man sighs dramatically, like it's such a fucking _chore_ , and tears the label off his beer bottle, scratches an address onto the soggy paper with a well-chewed ballpoint pen. "There. He ain't the best conversationalist but he's good at what he does. I good with the Crowes now?"

You eye the paper with suspicion, but nod reluctantly. Ain't no point in dragging up your daddy's vendettas, not with the family this wide-open and new.

"Good." The man smiles widely, moves to leave. Before he reaches the door, he turns around, cocks his head at you. "Sorry about your daddy, by the way."

Your lip curls up into a snarl. He gets the fuck out of there.

-

The Haitian is curt and wicked, but talented, and reliable. He spirits away bodies for a price, but he also knew your daddy, and he takes great joy out of spiting your brothers. You find him a refreshing change of pace.

Two years, three months after you first conscript his services, he tells you his name is Jean-Baptiste.

-

Wendy studies more, her tongue growing sharper and her wit quicker with every test she wasn't supposed to be able to pass. Danny becomes angrier and angrier, feeds his fury into the dogs he keeps and treats better than his own kin. Dilly mimics Danny's anger through a layer of confusion, learns nothing from it. Kendall gets older, and doesn't remember.

You change. Jean-Baptiste doesn't.

-

Wendy leaves one blinding day in the peak of summer, all bright eyes and fierce conviction. She's the spitting image of her mama but is every bit as stubborn as her daddy ever was, and you fight her just to finish the picture, not because you think you could ever change her mind. Maybe if you weren't the oldest son, you coulda done it too - gone legitimate, given the Crowe family name something respectable to be proud of, not had to wait to be behind bars before getting an education. You know much as anyone that wanting better for your kin and yourself ain't betrayal.

Don't change the fact that it feels like it, though.

She spits in your face and you scream after her, worst things you can think of. She drives away in the rusting, piece of shit truck you share without any intention of coming back, probably without saying a word to the rest of her brothers, and somewhere in the back of your mind, you hope she told Kendall, at least. She's his favorite sibling. He don't deserve to be run out on like that.

You look at the tire tracks in the mud, and dig your phone out of your pocket.

"Wendy's gone to Miami," you say after the line clicks. "Ain't coming back for a while."

"You want me there?"

"Think so, yeah," you say, after a second. "You know where Danny is?"

An _uh-uh_ noise from the other end of the line.

"'Kay." You rub at your eyes. "I gotta go find him."

"Call me, then," Jean-Baptiste says, "I'll be there." 

When you call, he is.

-

Fourteen years is a long time, not long enough to forget that your baby brother will grow up without his mama, his daddy, but long enough that the rush of pain has faded to a dull roar and his scrawny little weight on your shoulders feels like you've been carrying it your whole life. 

-

You know the minute Dilly kills a federal that a shit-storm of massive proportions is going to rain down on your family, but Jean-Baptiste says _Raylan Givens_ and you know, then and there, that this'll turn into something none of you could ever be prepared for.

-

You will do _anything_ to protect your family.

-

"I ain't gonna kill my brother!" 

Danny's yelling loud enough that you worry that Wendy and Kendall can hear him, as tucked away as they are. Jean-Baptiste, sun glinting off his sweaty skin, gives you a look that makes you want to hit him.

"Danny, you understand my reasoning here, don't you?"

"Fuck that! Fuck you!"

"We gotta keep this family alive, okay?" You're well aware of the desperation in your own voice. "Sometimes you gotta cut off a limb, keep the body healthy."

"You learn that in prison too?" he snaps. Behind him, Jean-Baptiste smiles at the venom he hears. You don't answer.

Danny lets out a broken whine, more dog than man, and kicks roughly at a chair. It skids back, hits the ground with a unsatisfying _thud_. His white-knuckled fists hang uselessly at his sides.

"My brother," he says, bites off the last letter with a vengeance. "My _brother_."

"Mine too," you say, stepping forward, and pull him in.

-

 _My daddy made me promise_ , you tell the man who put you behind bars. He calls bullshit, lightning-quick, and you know sure as anything that most lonely boys with a cruel daddy don't go the way he did, but that don't mean he got the right to look at your blood and kin like they ain't nothing more animals. The sell-out from the sight of his turned back is a brief comfort, and when Jean-Baptiste whispers at you to follow, you do not fight.

-

"You don't even like Kentucky, do you?"

Jean-Baptiste shrugs, eyes fixed on the knife in his hand. You've got no idea what he's whittling. You didn't even know people whittled until you met him.

"That ain't an answer, J-B." He concedes to look up at you, eyebrow raised. "You wanna go back to Florida?"

Another shrug. He looks back down to his work. You groan loudly, and then pull over a chair to get down to his level. 

"Don't go quiet on me right now, man, I've got enough shit to deal with." If he was anyone else you'd take the distraction off of his hands yourself, but he's not scared enough of you to be above cutting you open a little.

"I'm not going quiet," he says finally, setting the knife and block of wood on the table next to him. "I'm letting you figure it out."

"That ain't what I'm paying you for, is it?"

"You pay me to stand behind you and shoot people that would hurt you."

"Bullshit," you snap, even though you're well aware that anger just entertains him. You feel raw all over, like a wound that hasn't had time to scar.

"You don't pay me to tell you what you already know."

You shake your head. "Don't play with me, friend."

"I told you to come to Kentucky. Thought it would be easy to trap." That makes you smile, albeit wryly. "It's stronger than I thought."

"Yeah, and Dewey's dumber than you thought," you say, and when a grin breaks across his face, slow and easy, you feel some lost strength return to your limbs. "You gonna answer my question, J-B?"

"I don't like Kentucky," he says, the name alien on his tongue, "but it's not my family. You'll do well here."

You don't know how true that is, but you kick your foot against his anyway, and when he lays back in his seat, slides his hat over his eyes regardless of the roof above both of your heads, he traps your ankle between his legs and keeps it there.

-

"Should work out good with the house, I think."

"It worked before?"

"Pulled that shit all the time when we were kids, 'course it works. Mostly on motel people and such, but I figure it's the same idea, right?"

He chuckles. "You going with her?"

"Nah, I'll head back to Audrey's. Make sure Danny don't burn down the place, you know?"

"Not a problem," Jean-Baptiste says, "Already there."

When you come back, he isn't.

-

"You sure there ain't something you ain't telling me?" you ask Kendall, the silence where Jean-Baptiste should be louder than words, and his wide eyes tell you everything.


End file.
